


Issues

by StarliteNights



Series: AU Dixon Living [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Brother/Brother Incest, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarliteNights/pseuds/StarliteNights
Summary: They got to leave, to walk away and start over. Except they didn't. Not really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, all mistakes are still my own.  
> Still don't own the walking dead either. Dammit.
> 
> This ones gonna be the darkest part of my Dixon Living AU. Just a pre-warning. It's gonna get worse before it gets better.

Daryl knows he should have said something from the start, but it's not like they really had a choice. Their living off the bare essentials as it is and work is hard to find. Between the fact that odd jobs are few and far between and pay shit all they don't really have an income. Hell, their lucky they managed to get the old trailer for dirt cheap let alone own a TV, even as crappy as the resolution is. So yeah he knows they needed money, still do in fact which is why he didn't say anything. 

So fine, what Merle does is technically illegal. They've never really followed the law a hundred percent. Neither of them has a hunting license, never had, but that doesn't stop them from putting something on the table. The trailers not parked in a RV park or anything either. It's just far enough in the middle of some backwoods road that nobody cares. And they don't pay for cable or satellite or some shit but the TV plays it anyways, so yeah. They do a few technically illegal things. 

But Merle had to go and take it a step further, same as always. Because Merle never does anything halfway. For example, having a drink? He's getting drunk. So while this whole situation shouldn't surprise him, it still somehow does. Because why? That's the question he just can't find an answer to. 

Yes they needed money, and sure they've tried to get real jobs but apparently nobody's hiring. At the very least their not hiring two rough looking rednecks with zero qualifications. Go figures. So fucking fine, Merle goes and makes himself a drug dealer. Because of course he does. He's not even sure who supplies Merle with the goods, but he's got em and he sells em. Makes enough to keep them fed more then squirrel and keeps a decent stock of booze. So long as Merle doesn't go and end up arrested it's fine. Just don't get caught. For Merle that should be easy, he can bullshit with the best of them. 

Which is why Daryl didn't notice at first. He's not really sure when it started. Maybe one of those times Merle came home drunk there was more then booze in his system. In Daryl's defence it's easy to miss when it's the ass crack of dawn and He's fucking tired. Glassy eyes and slurred speech are easy to write off, and maybe he should have payed more attention to Merle's twitchier attitude but he gets like that sometimes. Get him drunk and Merle's one of two people, a frat boy or a sulk in the corner. He's either pumped up and ready to do something stupid, or he's lost to thoughts best left alone. 

So he didn't notice. Until he did. Sure, somewhere in the back of his mind he might have know. He might have had some inkling of an idea of what could be happening and he just didn't listen. Merle's his brother. His big annoying asshole of a brother, but his brother none the less. Maybe something more but that's complicated. Especially now, because Merle sells drugs. Merle also does drugs. 

Merle does drugs. 

Daryl doesn't really know what he's on exactly, doesn't want too but he's got a vague idea. It's gotta be some kinda meth. It makes the most sense given what he's seen and the little that he knows about it. Merle's been different. He's been known to dodge off for a day or two here and there. Odd jobs before and now running drugs. It's different then before though. He disappears now for days outta time and way more often then he used to. Most importantly when Merle is home, he's just not the same as he used to be.

He's tired a lot and when he's not tired he's twitchy and flighty. Merle's mood has always been a finicky thing but now it's like rolling a dice every five minutes. He's unpredictable. One minute he's fine, same old Merle and it's great. Other times he's off the wall. Angry over nothing and everything, stupid shit that shouldn't matter at all becomes the end of the world. The worse mood is the one that comes at night. Sometimes he can sleep, sometimes he tosses and turns for hours, and sometimes he gets quite. He'll just sit there staring at nothing. He'd sit there the whole night if Daryl let him too. Just staring off into nothing, completely lost. It's fucking disturbing. 

It reminds him of dad. 

And that's just not fucking fair. They left. Merle packed them up and said "come on lil brotha' we getting the fuck outta here. Ain't nobody gonna hurt us no more." And that was supposed to be it. New beginnings and all that shit. Him and Merle and Merle and him. The two of them against the fucking world, but now it's just him. Him against the whole fucking world and the one person on it that matters. He's not supposed to be against Merle. He's his brother. He's his everything. Merle's all he has and he's loosing him.

He wonders if there was a time before his dad got lost in the bottle. A time before their momma smoked and drank just as much as him. A time where they were, maybe not happy, but decent. Content. Did she have to watch him fall? Did she not say anything when one bottle became two? Became three and four and five? Did she just keep her mouth shut and pick up a pack a cigarettes? Did she try to speak up when it was too late and he laid into her like he did them? Is that why she started drinking too? Is that why she stopped caring? She waited too long, she didn't know what to do, she thought he'd quit on his own, she thought it would be fine, she thought it wouldn't get as bad as it did? Is that why she burned? Is he doomed to watch Merle fall further and further until he can't reach him anymore? Is he gonna burn too?

He just wants his brother back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do drugs, thus most of this is based on quick research and my imagination.

He's not sure how it got to this point. Honestly he's not sure about much when it comes to the shit he winds up in. It just kinda happens.

Ok fine, he makes the choices and walks through the motions. He's the one that does the things that he does, he's just not sure why exactly.

He doesn't really know why he says half the shit that he does. It's like half a thought in his head and then it's already out his mouth. Most of it's all in fun, he's just making a joke. Poking fun, trying to get a rise outta someone. It's entertaining most of the time, the other half it gets him into some real shit. He's been in more then his fair share of fist fights started over stupid shit that's come out his mouth. So yeah, he says shit he doesn't really mean and he doesn't know why per say.

He doesn't really know why he does half the shit that he does. He just does it. He pokes and prods and pushes buttons. Again it's all in fun, he doesn't really mean to hurt nobody by it, somehow people still end up hurt though. 

He'll sling an arm around Daryl's shoulders just as easily as he'll jab him in the ribs and make a run for it. It's fun. 

He knows why he says some of the shit that he does. Sometimes there's a real asshole and he just wants to crawl under their skin. Wants to rile them up and get em swinging so he can knock em down. He wants to piss em off as much as they piss him off. Big deal. 

He says things for other reasons too. He'll say some of the filthiest things he can think of just to watch Daryl's cheeks flush red. It's even better when he's shirtless, he gets to watch it seep down his neck and spread out the top of his chest. 

He knows why he does some of the things that he does. He knows why he took Daryl and got the hell outta dodge. He thinks he kinda knows why he likes having him far closer then he should too. Why they do what they do  
behind closed doors. 

He knows why he started selling drugs. They needed money and had very few ways to get it. So he started with half decent weed and eventually worked up to crystal meth once he'd proven he could be trusted enough. That and his amazing skills of persuasion. 

He's not so sure why he tried it out himself. Sure he tried the weed, everybody and their fucking dog have tried weed at some point. He was curious, fuck it why not? 

He honestly doesn't know why he tried the meth though.

Ok he might. 

It's just, he's seen what it does, how people get. Both the newbies and the veterans. He's seen some fucked up people from the shit and it made him wonder. They had to do it for a reason right? If it hurt em or made em see the seventh level of hell or something they wouldn't be doin it, right? Like there had to be a positive for them to keep coming back. Besides, one quick high wouldn't get him addicted. He's smoked weed a few times now and it's not like cigarettes, he doesn't get that craving, the need to have it. 

So trying meth one single time should be hypothetically fine. 

And it is. 

Which is why he goes back again. Because it's well, it's a high. It's a high unlike any other. It's better then the smug satisfaction of knocking some jackass down a peg or two. It's different then the rolling calm of weed, it's the complete opposite. It's a ride of speed and exhilaration. He wants to do things. He feels like twelve cups of coffee and just as many red bull. And then it's over and he wants it back. He needs it back. 

And by the time it really becomes a problem (which it hasn't really been long at all) it's too late. He needs it. He craves it, craves what it gives him just as much as he dreads the fall out. And he gets it then. Why they keep coming back, why they keep throwing everything away. It's not just the craving it, it's avoiding what comes after because it's hell. 

It's starting to be hell with it too though. It's messing with his head. He can't think straight anymore between high and need to get more so I can be high again. The worlds a jumble and he's spinning in circles. 

He's not hungry anymore and he knows he's gonna start loosing weight. Everything pisses him off and it's not helping when he can't sleep. Sometimes he just can't settle, it's like there's something underneath his skin. He can't turn his brain off and all his thoughts are twisted and screaming. Sometimes he gets lost. Gets so lost in his own mind sat there at two in the fucking morning that the only thing that brings him back is Daryl. Daryl pulling him down and tucking up into his side. Mumbling something and petting him and trying to coax him to sleep. Sometimes he can't stand to let him touch him.

He knows he's made a mistake. A big one that's gonna cost him, but he can't stop. It hurts. Going into withdrawal is like the worst hangover of his life. So he doesn't let that happen. He goes back to it time and time again. 

Daryl's worried eyes follow him every time. He can feel it like a weight bearing on his shoulders even when he isn't there. Can feel his disappointment. 

He can't stop. 

He wants to stop.

It's late and Daryl's buried in his side same as always. His hairs starting to get shaggy again but trying to convince him to cut it is a battle he doesn't have the energy for. 

His head hurts. He can't sleep and while normally having Daryl there helps, tonight it just makes his insides squirm. He hates this. He can feel it digging into the back of his skull. Can feel the way it worms through his bloodstream leaving him shaking and cold. 

The sun just barely starting to rise. He knows what he needs. Hates himself for leaving to get it even more.

He's coming down from a high and he's flat out of product. He's still selling but he's taking a good cut for himself at this point and making up the extra cash to cover it is starting to be a problem. 

He's tired and pissed and straight up uncomfortable. He manages to drag his ass back home and Daryl's waiting for him. He's been gone about three days at this point, or maybe it was closer to five. Either way he's home and he's tried and his skins crawling and he just wants to crash and hopefully sleep a little. 

Daryl's pissed.

Flys aboard of him the minute he opens the door. The trailers a mess, more so then it usually is and Daryl himself is just as bad. He's dirty and he smells it. Smells an awful lot like whiskey too. 

He's already missed the first half of what Daryl's been shouting at him. He's drunk flushed and getting worse the more he yells. Spit flying and arms flailing. Bottle of jack in one hand, a quarter of it sloshing out onto the floor as he swings the arm out. 

"Ya know how fuckin long you been gon'?!" He snarls it. Voice rough and broken, like he's been gargling nails and gravel.

"Couple days." Was it four or five? He really can't remember but it couldn't have been long. Everything just bleeds together at this point. Days blend into one another and leave him lost somewhere in between.

"Couple days" Daryl scoffs and takes a swig. "You've been missin' goin' on twelve days."

Twelve days? It hadn't been that long, had it? Could you loose that much time?

"Been fuckin' lookin' for ya'. Couldn't damn well find ya though! Thought you were dead in some crack house!"  
Daryl's voice breaks. He rubs a hand over his face and slouches back against the arm of the sofa. He looks tired. Dark bags under his eyes and greasy hair hanging over em. 

"I can't fuckin' do this Merle." It's spoken under his breathe. Soft and barely there, as if he doesn't want to admit it. "I ain't Momma." 

When he looks up it's with blood shot glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. 

"But your doin' a damn fine impression a Daddy."

One minute he's stood there in the door way, the next he's staring down at Daryl's crumpled form. He dosent remember hitting him the first time, he just remembers the fury. Hot white anger that burns him up from the inside out.

He remembers the rest. Has it burned into the back of his head and it'll haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He beats him. 

He beats him black and fucking blue. Busts Daryl's lip and splits his own knuckles doin it. Once he's got that first hit in he can't stop. He wants to but he can't. It's like some fucked up autopilot.

He's so fucking angry. Angry at himself. Angry for the whole god damn situation. Angry for Daryl being right and throwing it in his face. Angry that Daryl can't even fight back. 

Cause Daryl's loaded. He's uncoordinated and he manages to get one hit in that'll give Merle a real good shiner but that's it. Once Merle's really started on him he's fucked. 

He doesn't know when he stops, what caused it. If he just ran out of energy. Finds himself slumped against their rattling fridge, one booted foot in a puddle of what was left of the Jack Daniels. At least it didn't break.

He fucking hates himself. He sits there and watches Daryl's curled up broken body shudder. Sits there leaned against their shitty ass fridge and listens to him bawl. Watches blood and tears and snot roll down his baby brothers face, his sweet little brother. Because he was always the sweet one. 

He fucking hates himself and he knows why.


	3. Chapter 3

He's not sure how long he lays there choking on tears that won't stop coming. Everything hurts. He can taste blood and one of his eyes is starting to swell up real good. 

Is this how momma felt? 

He loves him. He know's he does and he's never wanted to admit it because it's not some brotherly love. They've gone far past that. With wandering hands and teeth and lips. With gasped pleasure and climax. With soft touches that linger. With strong arms wrapped around him at night, or on that stupid little sofa with their shitty as fuck TV. With the way Merle makes him laugh. With the way he makes him feel whole.

What happened?

Is this how momma felt?

He loves him and he knows he shouldn't. Knows he should walk away but he can't. Knows their both going to hell for the whole lot of this.

Merle's still sat there when he runs outta tears. He hurts. He's still drunk and his stomachs rolling, not sure if it's from the booze or the pain. He's not used to pain like this anymore.

He hurts and Merle's just sat there, staring at him without really seeing and he has the startling realization that Merle's probably still high. He kinda hopes he is. Because that gives him an excuse right? Merle wouldn't hurt him if he was sober. If he could think straight. 

Is this how momma felt?

"Merle?" His voice is broken and rough. His throats sore and raw like his face. 

Merle shifts, his gaze meeting his and he looks old. He looks far older then he is and at this point he's not sure if it's caused by the drugs or the life he's lived. Probably both. 

Merle stares and Daryl stares back as best he can with one eye. 

Eventually Merle looks away, drops his head back and stares at the ceiling instead. 

He's not sure how long he and Merle just exist there. He watches the sunlight filter through the equally as shitty blinds, the light bars it cast on the floor slowly drifting forward. Eventually that fades away as well, as day turns into evening. 

Merle shifts, his head rolling to the side to stare at him again. His eyes are watery and his face is scrunched up as if he's in pain himself. His left eye is looking a little dark and swelled. Not nearly as bad as Daryl's. 

He pitches forward and rolls to his knees to awkwardly shuffle the two feet of space that separates them. 

Merle wouldn't hurt him when he's sober. He still jerks when he reaches out. 

He knows those hands. Knows what it feels like when they ruffle his hair. When those rough finger tips brush along his neck and the shell of his ear. Knows how safe he feels when he's wrapped up in those arms and those hands are hot on his back and soothing. 

Now he knows what it's like when they hurt him too.

He watches Merle's frown deepen into a wince and his eyes fill and spill over. Two, three tracks of wet run down and curve under his chin. He's scruffy and unkept, more so then he used to be. He's shaking too. Daryl can't tell if it's cause of all this or the start of withdrawal. 

He just wants things to go back. To go back when it was just them and they were happy. When there wasn't this thing they had to deal with and Merle was Merle. Not this broken fucked up version of him. He wants his brother. His real big brother, who's loud and annoying and pretty fucking lazy too. The one that jokes and pokes and pushes him around in fun. The Merle who used to go hunting with him and would bitch later about having to help clean the kills. Merle who can't cook to save his life but makes the best coffee. The one that snores like a fucking freight train if he sleeps on his side and grumbles when you try to roll him over. His brother. His big brother who's just as broken as him and he misses him. He misses him so fucking much.

 

"I jus' wan' my brother back."


	4. Chapter 4

He gets Daryl cleaned up as best he can. Cleans his cuts with shaky hands and fights a migraine that threatens to knock him on his ass. The first aid kit they have is splayed out across their table. Wrappers from band aids and tape, antiseptic packets and whatever else he thinks might help. 

Daryl sits there and lets him work. Winces when his shaking hands pushes to hard or slips but he doesn't complain. Merle wishes he would. He remembers doing this for their mother. 

He help's Daryl out of his shirt, boots and jeans. Tucks him into their bed and try's not to see his scars. Can't bare to remember who put them there and how close he came to giving him some himself. Hopes that he hasn't. That Daryl will heal up without a trace of what he's done left behind. 

He digs through their drawers for a clean dish cloth and fills it with ice, twists the ends together to stop them from tumbling out. Grabs another and half heartedly throws it over the mess of whiskey turning sticky on the floor. Try's to find some damn Advil for the two of them to no success and settles for giving him the ice pack. 

He sleeps on the sofa.

He try's to sleep on the sofa.

Morning rolls around and he's sick. He's heading into real withdrawal and it sucks ass. He's sweaty, his heads killing him and his stomach is in knots The rooms spinning and he feels like complete and utter shit. He deserves every bit of it. 

He should haul his ass up and check on Daryl. See how bad the damage really is. How far he's fucked up. 

He makes it to the bathroom instead and pukes for what feels like hours. Empty's what little he had in his stomach to begin with and then just sits there dry heaving. 

When it's all over and his head hurts worse then it ever did and he's ready to gouged out his own eye balls or beat his head in against the rim of the toilet, Daryl's there. 

The sight of him makes him want to puke all over again. He really did beat him black and blue. The whole side of his face in fact. Lips busted, the swellings gone down in his eye some but now it's a nasty ass colour. He knows he cleaned him up last night or at least he hoped he did and it wasn't some fever dream. Hopes he at least managed that. Seeing it in the light of day makes it so much worse.

"Here" Daryl's brought water and he feels like an even bigger piece of shit, as if that's even possible. 

He's too sick to turn it away. 

The light hurts his eyes, the rooms starting to look like a god damn abstract piece of art and he craves the high so bad. If only to make the pain go away. 

Daryl helps him up and half drags him back to their bed. 

When he leaves him there Merle thinks it's more then he deserves, then the bastard comes back with the Advil he couldn't fucking find last night and more water. He's not sure if it's actually gonna stay down but he'll try in the vain hope that'll chase the pain away. He's cold but the way Daryl's patting at his face and frowning suggests he might be burning up instead. 

"Ya' shakin'."

Yeah he is and he can't stop it. It's not helping his pounding head either. He hates this. Hates that he put himself here. Hates that he's dragging Daryl through it all too. 

They end up side by side. Not snugged up like they normally are but flush side to side on account of the bed being so fucking small. It's enough. It's too much. It's more then he deserves, and Daryl deserves better. 

Daryl keeps patting at him. If it's to make sure he hasn't left or to keep an eye on his supposed fever Merle can't tell. He feels like shit. He's pretty sure those pills are gonna make a reappearance real soon, but he'll try to keep em down. 

Daryl's still here. He knows there's so much he could say, should say. Sorry being the first. Eventually he'll get around to it. Promises to himself that he will. For now he'll try and sleep. He'll try and forget the chills and the pain. He'll lay here and listen to Daryl breathe beside him and hope he'll stay. Hope he'll wake up and Daryl will still be there. 

Because he could leave. He could walk away and Merle wouldn't blame him. He probably should. He knows Daryl could make it on his own, could clean himself up and flash those blue eyes and someone would whisk him away. 

Part of him worries that the minute he closes his eyes he'll be gone. Gone for real and there won't be a thing he can do about it. The other part knows he'll stay. Knows he'll wake up to those pretty blues hovering over him. Cause Daryl cares, cares more then he should. 

He was always the sweet one.


	5. Chapter 5

Withdrawal is something he never wants to go through. It's also something he never wants to see ever again. 

His face is healing up but his brother still feels like a piece of garbage. Both mentally and physically. He's been sick ever since that night. He's had a few more mood swings and they've been through a few more fights. Thankfully all of them short for the most part and verbal. There might be a hole in the wall in the bathroom that wasn't there before but it's not his face so he'll take it. 

Their dealing as best they can. Cause Daryl's not leaving and Merle's not dad, no matter how close he came. 

They can fix this. Everything's gonna be fine. 

If it means Daryl has to patch a few more things around the trailer and Merle pukes more then he eats for the first few weeks, fine. They'll handle it.

Because he loves him. He can admit it to himself. Maybe not out loud, even though he's sure Merle has to know by now. And he knows Merle loves him back. Yeah he fucking hurt him, but he's been hurt before and he has the scars to prove it. Merle hasn't scarred him. Bruised him and scared the hell outta him but he hasn't left any scars. Yeah that doesn't sound like much and it really isn't but he'll take it just like he's taken all the other shit the worlds thrown at him.

Their gonna have to come up with a plan after this all blows over. When Merle doesn't shake like a newborn calf, can stand the light for more then thirty seconds and can keep his damn breakfast down. Theres not a lot left money wise. Eventually Merle's supplier is gonna come looking to see why his dealer ain't dealing no more and it ain't gonna be pretty. Chances are their gonna have to get the hell outta dodge and for some reason that scares him.

He wasn't scared when they left home all those years ago. He was ready to walk away and not look back. Damn the consequence and bring on the world. Anything was better then that. 

This is what they've had basically ever since. They had bounced around for awhile doing odd jobs and saving what they could. Enough to buy a second hand truck older then both of them and then this run down trailer. They found this spot said yup and parked her. They've been here ever since.

It's not much but it's been home. Daryl knows these woods like the back of his hand and the thought of leaving hurts. Sure the towns full of a bunch of busybodies with sticks so far up their ass it tickles their tonsils but they barely go there anyway. Just long enough to pick up a few things fill up on gas and head back here.

It's home. It's really crap all but it's home.

When he had allowed himself to wish for something more this hadn't been how things started out. Honestly there had never been a beginning to those dreams because he knew how unrealistic change was. 

And now it's staring him in the face and he's not sure what to do. Where are they gonna go? Are they gonna take the trailer with em or leave it behind? He's not so sure their poor truck is gonna survive hauling the thing around for too long. Feels they got lucky enough getting the damn thing in here the first time. 

There not gonna get real far with the little bit of cash they have left either. Not unless Merle's willing to sell his bike and even then they'll be doing things on a budget. 

So he's not sure what the plans gonna be, and something else is bound to blow up in their faces down the road. 

"Ya' thinkin's givin' me a headache." Merle's voice is rough and mumbled. His face squashed into Daryl's collarbone and his arm slung over his stomach. 

He doesn't apologize. Merle's the one that got them into all this and he can deal with the trouble it's causing. 

Nothings perfect or remotely ok but eventually it just might be. They'll figure it out cause that's what they do, they deal with it. Their brothers and sorta lovers even though their a mess and they don't talk about it. Their Dixons. They'll survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a sequel to this one in the works for anyone that's interested! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'm not the best writer out there but I try. Feedback is more then welcome.


End file.
